


Haunted

by Demmora



Category: Dishonored, Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Butts, Fluff and Crack, sleepy whalers, things that go bump in the night - Freeform, troll Corvo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 19:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5177477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demmora/pseuds/Demmora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corvo finds out that Daud has yet to leave the city, and rather than get angry decides to become his personal poltergeist for the night. Pure crackfic for anon on tumblr who wanted Corvo to troll Daud as a form of stress release. Also butts were mentioned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cracked.

He shouldn’t be doing this, he _knows_ he shouldn’t be doing this. But then again there’s a million and one things he shouldn’t have done since the start of the plague, so Corvo decides this is just one more thing to add to his list. The fact that it’s _Daud_ he’s tormenting is only making it easier not to care.

Daud who should not be here, Daud who begged for his life in exchange to leave Dunwall and never return. But in truth Corvo would have spared him anyway, probably. Although he’s not quite so certain as he would have been in his youth.

Corvo grew up being taught and believing that an eye for an eye would make the whole world blind, and if anything the actions of those around him in the past few months has only confirmed this. From the plague which spiraled so desperately out of control, monstrous in it’s very inception, to Jessamine’s death and the chaos that had ensued...vengeance and power were dangerous vices to fall prey to. And Corvo couldn’t afford himself the luxury. Not when someone had to pick up the pieces, if only for Emily’s sake.

But he figures he could spend a while driving Daud a little bit crazy. If nothing else it makes Corvo feel better, deep in a ridiculous and petty part of his soul which yearns for blood but has to settle for being sated by the way Daud just tripped over the chair Corvo had spent the last few minutes subtly moving into the other man’s way.

The quarantine was still very much in place, and Corvo had taken it upon himself to go out patrolling, him being the only one able to reach certain places and check things over to his own personal satisfaction. It had been pure whimsy that had drawn him back to the flooded district and the Whaler hideout. That and the call of a bone charm on the distant horizon, but he had long since given up on that now. Tormenting Daud was proving to be far more satisfying, as well as helping to hone his skills in more subtle ways than the mad dash to find Emily had allowed. It had taken him a while, but he’d soon learned how to push and pull at things with a wisp of the void. The Outsider called it tethering, and had given Corvo a look which had bordered on to human shock and curiosity, that Corvo had been able to learn it by himself. Apparently that wasn’t supposed to be part of the deal. Though as far as Corvo was concerned he’d never made a deal, simply had the conditions of it thrust onto him, making him free to do whatever he wanted with the outcome. The Outsider hadn’t quite agreed, but he hadn’t objected either. Corvo suspected that so long as he remained _interesting_ this would always be the case.

“What the—!” Daud exclaimed, shins impacting painfully with the chair and all but toppling, only his assassin reflexes saving him. “Who put that there?”

He might as well be talking to an empty room if it wasn’t for Corvo, skulking in a deep dark corner, the void drawn up to make him all but invisible. The few Whalers who had remained with Daud were all dozing in their bunks down the hall. They hadn’t meant to take a nap, but there you had it.

He watched in amusement as Daud hefted the chair and pointedly put it back where it belonged, continuing on in his initial trajectory toward a filing cabinet. That Daud kept accurate records of his clients, and so efficiently and neatly, was impressive to Corvo. And he should know, he’d spent a good half hour rummaging through it all and messing it up while Daud had been out in the practice yard, talking to someone called Thomas. Not even Burrows had been as thorough as Daud was. It was almost enough to make him consider asking Daud if he felt like making up his debt to Emily in other ways. They were after all in need of a new Spymaster...though Corvo found that part of him that yearned for blood couldn’t quite allow this prospect to unfold. Not yet at any rate. Perhaps when Emily was older and Daud’s shin had been reduced to a pulp by the chair Corvo was again lifting into the air and moving back into the center of the room.

This time when Daud turned, head buried in a missive file, he did trip over the chair, papers and pictures scattering at his feet.

“I swear if this is your doing, you black eyed _prick!”_ Daud shouted from his spot on the ground, one hand pressed firmly over his face. “I will come into the Void and rip your floating fucking spleen out.”

Unable to stop the wheeze of laughter deep in his throat, Corvo reached out and slowed time. He’d practiced this several times, ensuring that Daud could not feel or see the trick. Apparently he had to be aware of it happening, ready to counter it as he had been in their duel, to stop Corvo from doing it. But the other man did seem to recover from it quicker, his own powers lessening Corvo’s. So it was with some speed Corvo emerged from his hiding spot, reaching Daud’s desk and rotating the objects about, moving the mug from the left to the right, hiding his pen in the drawer and pocketing the key to the Whaler’s den. Corvo had always had a bad habit of pocketing keys, even as a child. He justified it to himself that you never knew when a key might come in handy, and frankly if Daud planned to remain here then Corvo would like to keep an eye on what he was doing. And a key would make life so much easier than having to take the time to pick locks. As an afterthought he picked up the shiny red apple on the desk, and took a bite, taking it with him as he retreated back to his corner, just in time for his hold on time to give way, with just enough power left to bury himself in shadow again. Delicious though the apple was however, it was crunchy, and he doubted even Daud in his frustrated state would fail to notice him munching happily away in the corner. So instead Corvo slid a vial of Piero’s Remedy from beneath his jacket and contented himself with sipping on the cool, tingly elixir. It had a menthol after taste that Corvo found quite refreshing, helping to keep his mind alert even when he didn’t need to replenish his powers, and without the gut rotting bitterness of what passed for coffee in this dreary island. Idly he wondered if Daud also missed the taste of real coffee, the richness and full flavor which only Karnaca seemed to know how to blend without turning it into swill water. He knew the other man was from Serkonos, though beyond that not much else. Perhaps one day he’ll ask him. When the man wasn’t busy picking up files from the floor and slapping them down onto his desk with irritation, eyes roaming over the desk in confusion. The changes Corvo made were subtle enough to be unnerving. Everything important was still there, only mildly rearranged, save for the missing key and apple of course. But Daud was sharp enough to notice, and Corvo watched as he picked up the coffee mug and put it back down where it belonged, slightly harder than was warranted.

Settling for some slightly less taxing poltergeist activities, Corvo began playing with the latches on the window across the room, pushing and pulling until it opened, squeaking on it’s hinges and letting the cool night air of Dunwall into the room. Daud looked up at it in irritation, clearly expecting someone to emerge, one of the missing Whalers perhaps. But when no one came  Daud pushed back from his desk, crossing the room in the blink of an eye, and leaned out the frame peering into the night.

Which was when Corvo decided to take his leave, slinking out of the corner and jumping silently up onto the raised platform above, pocketing an elixir from Daud's nightstand as he headed for the open upper window he had come in by. But not before aiming carefully with the apple and smacking Daud squarely on his old backside, the other man spinning around lightning fast, sword drawn.

Only to find a half eaten apple at his feet, and the sound of footsteps and laughter retreating somewhere in the distance.


	2. And the crack keeps coming...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the previous fic, as requested by anon. Again. Don't say I don't love you guys <3

He’s going crazy. It’s the only explanation. The void has seeped into his brain and soon he’s going to be talking to himself in sing song rhymes like that crazy old boot, Granny Rags. 

Thomas is no help, he just looks at Daud when he demands to know who keeps moving things, and even with his face hidden behind his mask, Daud knows the younger man thinks he’s losing his mind. Even the way he talks to him is different, less sure and more placating, as though granddad has lost his spectacles and the kids keep finding them in the ice box.

The Outsider is no help either, the few times he does appear at an altar, smirking down at Daud, denying all culpability for anything that is currently going on. Which Daud finds even more frustrating because if he’s going to go mad he wants to know. He wants to know so he can take a last walk along the rooftops and never come back, find a boat heading south and head home. If only so he can die somewhere warm and away from this rotting damp city. 

It’s not an option at present however, not when he still has so much work to do and Delilah’s coven is out for revenge in the name of their fallen queen and _somehow_ the royal guard keeps scuppering his plans. If he didn’t know any better he’d accuse the Outsider of playing informant to Corvo, but not even the black eyed bastard is that outward with his favoritism. So instead he’s sitting at his desk, office windows barred, the doors firmly shut. And his hand wrapped firmly around his coffee mug, just _daring_ it to move.

There’s a creak up above and Daud forces himself not to look up, but his wrist moves, readying the sleep dart should it be necessary. When nothing else happens he relaxes ever so slightly, and carries on reading the report in front of him, penned in Thomas’ neat scrawl.

The boy should have been a writer, Daud thinks, the way he describes things, even the death of a petty criminal like Alfie “Mad” Sykes, a low time pimp whose girls had saved up their precious coins to have him ruthlessly slaughtered. They’d paid extra for the added gore, which Thomas spared no detail in describing. He’s even described the way the light reflected on the water, and although Daud will never admit to reading much prose, it’s really rather good. Poetic almost, reminding Daud of his brief time training to be an actor in the slummy theaters of Karnaca.  It had been his mother’s lover who had taught him, promising Daud a lifetime treading the boards and being something special, before abducting Daud into his own petty life of crime. He’d wound up being Daud’s first real victim, although at the time Daud had regarded it more as an execution than a murder. _Good times_ , he allows himself a low satisfied hum, and carries on reading.

Idly Daud toys with the idea of teaching his boys and girls—and there are more girls now that Billie has left—how to act. He could set up his own troop and take the Whalers south. There was plenty of coin to be made in acting, and rich and noble houses often let actors perform in their own homes. It would be a good cover for infiltration...he knows it’s a pipe dream, a silly little notion that never the less makes him smile. He must be going mad to think so fondly of everything so ridiculous, but at least this madness is pleasant and doesn’t involve him walking into furniture and losing his keys. 

Reflexively his hand goes to his pocket and he’s glad to find the ring of keys still there. 

In a brave moment, Thomas had suggested it might be stress. The look Daud had given him could have spit roast a pig, and while Thomas had looked ready to throw himself into the Void rather than be there in front of Daud, the young man had stood fast and tried to _calmly_ explain that well, they’d all been through a lot lately. What with the plague and the Empire falling apart and Billie betraying them to _Delilah_ and then _Corvo_ showing up...and leaving them all alive...

No one could have predicted that. Especially not Daud who had felt the other man’s blade make contact with his flesh and for one blessed moment had thought it might all be over. Some of the younger ones might have thought to make it out alive, but the ones who had seen the dead eyed look on the Lord Protector’s face on the day the Empress had died had probably considered throwing themselves off the nearest roof when they’d found Corvo had got out and was making his way toward the hideout through the flooded district. Even poisoned, beaten half to death and without his gear the man had proved to be formidable. And Daud was forced to admit that the Outsider was right, the other man was _fascinating._ Daud had never seen someone move so clearly with the trappings of a killer, not even his own Whalers, but at the same time glide so effortlessly through a dying city like an angel of mercy, rather than destruction. It was...oddly hopeful. 

Daud had stood among the crowds when they’d crowned that little chit of a girl, the throne much to big, the crown even more so. But she’d looked right, sitting there, and some small part of Daud which would never be able to be absolved of guilt had breathed a little sigh of relief to see that she smiled. Even as they weighed her down and took away the remnants of her childhood, she had looked oddly serene, smiling and waving, her innocence and joy washing over the assembled crowds like a balm to raw wounds. And Corvo had stood steadfastly at her side, the dark mark of the Outsider worn openly in defiance, and perhaps, also as a warning. He had been merciful, _this_ time. He might not be so much in the next.

Another creak from upstairs claimed Daud’s attention, and this time he found it harder to ignore. He’d felt the familiar tug in the Void too, and knowing that all of the Whalers were out on a raiding party, knew it to be none of them.

Daud stood up, blade in hand, his wrist-bow at the ready. The sight revealed nothing, but the hair on the back of his neck rose at the familiar whisper of sudden movement, the Void twisting through reality as it so often did when he blinked from one place to another. When he looked down at his desk it was to see that his mug was gone.

“Fucksake, not this again.”

It’s the last thing he manages to say before an arm clamps around his throat, pulling back and _gently_ squeezing him toward the open arms of oblivion.

Daud groans around the headache building behind his eyes, the crick in his neck sharp and unforgiving. He’s in bed he realizes, the softness of the mattress familiar and oddly comforting beneath him. He hopes to the Void he didn’t trip and brain himself and Thomas or one of the others had picked him up and put him to bed. He might as well swallow his own gun if they did.

But the figure looming over him, coming into focus as his vision clears, isn’t wearing the Whaler uniform. His mask is tipped up however, and he’s drinking from Daud’s mug, a sheave of notes in hand, details of an upcoming raid.

He growls when Corvo sets both items down on Daud’s night stand, reaching down to pat Daud lightly on the head like he’s an old hound too tired to move when Daud continues to struggle against the after effects of being so expertly syncoped.

“No one’s ever going to believe you,” the other Serkonan smiles, then blinks out of existence. 

 


End file.
